


Wide Blue Skies

by valammar



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fishing, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Sibling Rivalry, Swearing, farming, plus size character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valammar/pseuds/valammar
Summary: They couldn't be more different. When multiple tragedies bring Asta and Lena to White Willow Farm, the two sisters discover who they're truly meant to be.





	1. Chapter 1

_Calling all astronauts:_

_Do standard sodas leave you feeling out of orbit?_

_Then get ready to blast off with new Joja Cola Rocket Fuel! Made with Infizzity®, a patented bubble technology that contains twice the carbonation, this extreme fizzy soft drink never goes flat so you can take it to the moon and back. With just one sip, you’ll be feeling—_

“Soulless,” Asta murmured, scrutinizing the script she’d written. Trite, though its subject matter left little for inspiration. Soda was soda, and Joja had enough variations to build a life-sized model of the very corporate tower in which she scribbled the on-air promotions for every single one. There was Joja Summer Harvest (“It’s peachy!”), Diet Joja that had a positive aspirational message (“Count moments in life, not calories.”), Joja Clear (“You _don’t_ have to see it to believe it.”) and, of course, the popular overseas edition: AvoJoja (“Holy Guacamole!”).

This _was_ what advertising school primed her for, wasn’t it? Witty stories about the mundane?

The question remained: who was she even writing to anymore? News of the Empire dominated every cable channel. Another city went dark after a siege. More civilians are relocated in the wake of an attack. When danger loomed every corner of the Republic, who had time to appreciate a message for an avocado flavored beverage? Or for powdered maple syrup?

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead with a pestilent hum that made concentration a chore. Her colleagues hunched over their computers like wilted daisies. They’d avoided conversation after Asta received word that management was moving her to the floor’s most coveted corner cubicle. Now, if she stood in her pumps and tilted her head just so, she could catch a glimpse of glimmering sunlight bouncing off the surrounding skyscrapers from a faraway window. Oh yes, the benefits of her new locale were _boundless_. There she sat, pen monkey she was, some fifty feet from the nearest coffee pot.

She took a sip of the bitter brew. Joja brand, of course. So strong it went down like bourbon and burned its way into her belly. The smell renewed her more than the taste. With every whiff she remembered weekday mornings, when her parents commiserated with her over their morning cup. The cloying scent wafting from a pair of steaming travel mugs when their car hood started smoking on the highway, canceling a planned family trip to their grandfather’s farm one fateful summer. Lena was only four years old then, with cotton candy cheeks and incurable curiosity.

They were so proud of her when she accepted the job. Even Lena, all split lips and cigarette smoke, gave a firm head nod in her direction when she made the announcement. A newly minted graduate at Ferngill University’s College of Public Relations and Advertising, she’d traded in her robe and cap for a sensible skirt and shoes that very summer as Joja’s newest copywriter.

It all seemed like so long ago. Before the war. Before her sister dropped out of school. Before their mom and dad…well.

There’d been a modest lapse between tears. If she wanted to keep her grief at bay she shouldn’t think about that now.

“Asta Eriksen?”

A voice summoned her from solipsism. She turned to face a courier who presented a sealed envelope.

“Yes?”

“Letter for you.”

When she read the return address, she knew.


	2. Chapter 2

There's a moment in life where pain is all-consuming. Tragedy strikes like lightning, leaving behind a thunderclap of grief that trembles deep beneath the outer layers of one's skin and rattles between blood and sinew.  

First her parents. Then her grandfather. The entirety of her life dissolved in a modest envelope. Though she and Lena were fully grown, Asta couldn't quite quell the notion that they were orphans.  

She also couldn't remember a recent time when she knew peace. There were remnants of memories, faded impressions that likened a blurry photograph. They each had one thing in common: all of them led back to summers at White Willow Farm. When she read that Grandpa Nils left her and Lena as heirs to his property, she nearly fainted. Loss and shock were a potent mix. 

The letter sat in her desk drawer for nearly a year before she took executive action. Ever the pragmatist, she needed savings. She needed time to heal. The plan required extensive research. Then there was the matter of her sister. Coaxing Lena to do anything that required a modicum of effort offered its own challenges. 

For some reason, she agreed. Asta could only hope that her willingness made it with her to the bus stop. 

After several hours of mutual silence, the oversized vehicle slowed to a halt. Asta gathered her bags and hobbled down the steps, her muscles stiff from disuse.  

“You must be the Eriksen sisters.” The two were greeted by an older gentleman with a push broom mustache and jovial jaunt. “I think I’d know you two girls anywhere; you’re the spitting image of old Nils.” 

“You knew Grandpa?” she asked. 

“Oh, me and Nils went way back.” His eyes flashed. “I suppose I should introduce myself! My name’s Lewis, resident Mayor of Pelican Town these last two decades.” 

“I’m Asta. This here is Lena.” 

Lewis extended a hand to her sister, who merely shrugged and leaned to her left to spit in the dirt. “’Sup.” 

He drew his arm back slowly, clearly feeling at fault for something. Asta picked up her bag and nodded that they make their way to their new home. 

"Don’t mind her, Mayor Lewis. I think you and I are going to get along just fine." 

For a spring day, the noon sun burned hot. That, or she suffocated under the several layers of clothing she wore. Donning so many shirts meant more room in her luggage for city memorabilia. Her throat felt parched, eager for any moisture than her own sweat which soaked its way into her multiple collars in fat drops. 

All that changed when she saw the familiar wooden arch at the end of the quiet dirt road. The baby blue and white paint had almost completely faded, leaving behind blanched birch and browned curls of ivy long past its lushness. 

Breaching the gates, her eyes landed on the great white willow. The property's imposing symbol, its pale branches swept the pond's surface. She used to swing from them, plummeting gracelessly into the murky water. As a child, she'd been nearly submerged. Now it looked no larger than a puddle and no deeper than her knees. 

“Say, when was the last time you gave old Nils a visit?” inquired Lewis. 

How long _had_ it been since they'd come here? How long had it been since they were a happy family? _Too long_ , she thought.  

“A lifetime, it feels like.” 

He nodded. “Now, I know it’s been a while since anyone’s given this place a good sprucing. A few of the townsfolk stop by from time to time, making sure nothing gets too out of order. This place – your grandfather – was special to all of us. Nice to see it have some life back on it again, but you got your work cut out for you.” 

Surveying the land, relief flooded over her in an instant. Asta closed her eyes and inhaled, relishing the fragrance of earth commingling with the morning dew. Pollen hung in the air and danced in the sun rays like a golden mist. True, it had seen better days, but all that was broken could be restored with time. 

“Honestly? I’m looking forward to it,” she said, matter-of-fact. 

She stood at the forefront of a bittersweet change. Miles away, her resignation letter sat on her manager's desk after she'd set out to rewrite the blueprint of the life she thought she'd lead. 

It was... _romantic_. 

* * *

 

It was a dump.  

Seasons brought an abundance of overgrown heather. Fallen branches lay helter-skelter beneath entangled trees. Lena scoffed at the rickety shack their grandfather once called home. It stood on the hill with clouded windows that seemed to absorb all light rather than reflect. 

She trudged behind Asta, who beamed with her patented parade of grace and mirth as Lewis bid them both farewell with a set of house keys.  

“It’s a lot smaller than when we were kids, huh?” 

“Hmm,” Lena grunted. The bus had been musty and her temples threatened a migraine. She could feel the deep, rhythmic pulses against her skull. She ran a hand through the damp curls in her short-cropped hair. 

“Full of monosyllabic expressions today, are we?” 

There she went again, ever the passive-aggressor. “Fuck’s sake, Asta! It’s hot. I’ve sat on a bus for nearly five hours and haven’t had a smoke or a latte since yesterday. What do you want from me?” 

“Just...a little more optimism would be nice.” Her sister sighed and turned the key. The door resisted her at first, then it burst open with great force. Luckily, the hinges remained intact. Their argument fizzled once they stepped inside and took stock of what remained in their new residence. 

Okay. So it _was_ smaller than she remembered.  And far more odorous. The single room housed a single bed, a wood burning stove, and an old television that only showed up in nostalgia shops or behind dumpsters. Was that an antenna? 

And were those… _mushrooms_ growing out of the floorboards? 

"I think the bed's got mold on it." 

Asta inspected the wood and nodded a confirmation. "I'll move the mattress to the floor. It'll have to do for now until the moving truck arrives." 

She could have her fun sleeping with the spores. Lena scanned the ceiling for the familiar latch she knew well. "There's the attic! Calling it now. That's my room. You can have whatever this space is." 

Asta gave a soft chuckle. "Fine. Those old cots we used to lay on are probably still up there, too." 

Pulling the latch, the ladder gave way and Lena made her climb upstairs. There she noted the attic, all dark and dusty and damp, just like when she was a kid. The slanted ceiling framed a rounded window that caught the southern sun. Sure enough, the two cots rested parallel from one another, undisturbed for nearly a decade.  

Using her flannel sleeve, she wiped the grime from the window and peered outside. The forest spread over the horizon, still teak brown and barely budding with new foliage. In the distance, a grim tower of crumbling grey brick with a copper roof extended above the canopy. She and her sister were never permitted to wander the woods as children, but now?  

It was all too tempting to go and see the structure up close.   

Her head pounded in quick staccato pulses. So much so that balls of light appeared before her eyes. Dancing, swaying, twirling in her retinas. Lena blinked and looked away only to find that her ocular impairment didn't follow. Pressing her face closer to the glass, she saw them again, winding their way through the trees in a prism of color. 

Suddenly, she recalled a gruff voice from her childhood. Her grandpa's hand on her shoulder as she felt a fluttering in her stomach at a glimpse of something new and strange.  

 _"So," he said. "You can see them, too?"_  

 


	3. Chapter 3

The dock had been new once. Even slabs of richly red wood extending over the shimmering stream. Now it had warped with wear and faded to a deathly grey. 

In the moonlight, it looked like something out of a horror movie. Lena dangled her legs over the edge, skimming the black water with the heel of her boots. She couldn't sleep, her mind clinging desperately to her vision this afternoon. When she couldn't sleep, she needed a cigarette. When she needed a cigarette, Asta always took the time to chastise her for it. 

 _Hypocrite_. How many ads for Joja menthols had she written in her time, anyway? 

So she left her sister sleeping among the spores and made her way down to her grandfather's favorite relaxation spot. He'd often watch the sunset over the water as a daily meditation. He'd ask her to name the trees by leaf shape and then quiz her on the wood he used to assemble the dock itself. 

 _Solid cedar. Pressure treated. Needs_ _to be refinished every two years._ She didn't know the last time he replaced the boards, but she assumed it had been longer than that. From what it sounded like, Grandpa Nils ailed for years before he finally died. 

She inhaled, the velvety smoke coating her lungs and easing some of the tension in her muscles. The tower stood out against the obsidian sky. Subtle footsteps in the gravel shuffled toward her, transitioning into a heavy thud that made the dock rattle beneath her. Asta must have heard her sneak off, after all. 

"So. You found me," she said. 

"No, you're intruding," said a low voice that was anything but her sister's wistful, breathy speech. Lena turned around to see a man about her age, with dark hair, a soiled sweatshirt and an embarrassing pair of wrinkled cargo shorts, holding a six-pack of Joja Lite. He leered down at her though a clenched jaw and pursed lips, but she'd endured enough displays of masculinity to see that he was only posturing. Probably just worked a late shift and looking to blow off some steam. 

" _I'm_ intruding?" She ashed her cigarette over the water and took another puff. "This is my dock, dude." 

After a few seconds, he gave an indignant huff and turned. " _Fine_ , I'll go." 

Judging by his grizzly demeanor and penchant for cheap booze, he was her kind of people. She needed as many as she could find in this one horse town. "There's plenty of room for two," she called out. 

"I'm not in the mood to talk." 

One final offer. "Me neither. Want a smoke?" 

He paused, then faced her again. He had a nonchalant slouch and was about five days due for a shave. "Yeah. Want a beer?" 

" _Hell_ yeah." 

He plopped down next to her and she handed him her pack and a lighter. He popped the tab on her can before handing it to her. 

"Such a gentleman." 

"We're not talking." 

"Relax, dude, I'm not trying to pick you up. You're not my type, anyway." She took a long swig. Still cold, probably just pulled off the refrigerator rack. She watched the moon's reflection form a glimmering argent halo on the water's surface. Her companion lit a cigarette and set the pack down between them. She noted his slouch again, like his shoulders were too heavy. They held a respective silence amid croaking frogs and chittering insects. 

"You from around here?" she asked. 

"No." Curt and brash. She wagered he'd been carted out here to the middle of nowhere just like she had and they were now stuck as the two most obdurately willed people in Stardew Valley. 

 _Misery loves company, and all that._  

"I'm Lena, by the way." 

He side-eyed her. "Are you going to do this the whole time?" 

"Are you going to keep coming over to get drunk on my dock?" 

He sighed and drank his beer in earnest, downing the rest of the can. Lena watched him crush it against his knee with his free hand and then pull another out of its ring with fluid familiarity. He'd probably perfected his pattern a long time ago. 

"Shane," he muttered.  

Lena nodded and took another sip. She recalled the many nights she'd spent in this situation, staring absently into space and waiting for tobacco and liquor to take effect. Only it had been on cement rooftops after sneaking into an abandoned warehouse. She and her friends would perch themselves precariously on a ledge and watch the city lights fade out one by one against the pale pink sunrise. One time, their pickup truck ran out of gas on the highway so they trekked the 10 miles into town on foot, trading swigs of rail whiskey wrapped in a flannel shirt. 

 _Demi's shirt._ She pulled her into an alleyway behind a dive bar earlier that night and told her to keep quiet so the bouncer wouldn't hear. Lena bit her bottom lip and lost herself in the feel of Demi's tongue caressing the cut of her hip and her thumb teasing at the zipper of her jeans.  

After her mom and dad passed, not even Demi wanted anything to do with her anymore. Who would, the way she cut herself off from them? Maybe Lena didn't really love her. Maybe she loved rail whiskey more.  

Suddenly, an orange flicker caught her eye and she noticed a soft glow coming from the turret window in the distance. The ramshackle shingles appeared an eerie green in the dim light.  

"Hey, you know anything about that tower?" 

Shane shrugged. "What about it?" 

"Does someone actually live there?" 

He flicked his cigarette and helped himself to another beer. "Some weirdo. Calls himself a wizard." 

She cackled, finding the information ridiculous. "A wizard? What, like pointy hats and beards? Where's he from?" 

Shane shrugged again.  

"Is he a squatter or does he like, actually, genuinely live there?" 

"Maybe ask someone who gives a shit." 

Lena held up her hands with open palms as a gesture of goodwill, realizing she'd struck a nerve. "Okay, I'll lay off." 

They sat together quietly. There hadn't been much breeze that day and the water lay still. She'd also noticed that the sounds of nature had dwindled, as if every cricket decided that all the racket suddenly wasn't worth making anymore.  

Calm, yet she could feel an energy charging through the air. She blinked once. Twice. There they were again, the colorful sprites. They twirled the tower in a counterclockwise motion, generating some type of force. Building, building, building and then— 

"There!" The turret window flashed purple and in an instant, all was a dull, murky hue once more. "Did you see that?" 

"See what?" Shane stared ahead of him, oblivious.  

"Those little dancing lights. What are those?" 

He snorted. "You sound like my cousin. She's always seeing things." He guzzled his last beer, crushed his cigarette and dropped the charred filter into the stream.  "Then again, she's also six." 

Shane stood with a groan and dusted off his shorts. Apparently, he'd not made note of the phenomenon and now that the booze was gone, had no reason to stay. 

"You leaving?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well," she said, "nice not talking with you." 

She heard him take two footsteps on the rickety wood before stopping again. He spoke softly, "Hey, um...you're not like everyone else here." 

"That good or bad?" 

"Take it as a compliment." 

She gave him a smile. "Then feel free to keep using my dock to unwind. Maybe I'll bring whiskey next time." 

He didn't smile back.  

When he left, Lena studied the tower and attempted to eyeball her trajectory through the forest. Come what may, she needed to go there. She needed know what happened in that tower. 

She needed to meet this wizard. 


End file.
